


A Little Solitude

by enigmaticblue



Series: Sun 'Verse [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Solitude is not measured by the miles of space that intervene between a man and his fellows.” ~Henry David Thoreau</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Solitude

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt “telepathy (always there, but sudden trauma)”. Many thanks to thomasina75 for her help on this one.

Castiel woke suddenly, his heart pounding. Something was wrong; something was _really_ wrong.

 

He sat up and checked on Dean first. Dean slept on, however—peaceful and still for the first time in a long time. Dean had been uneasy with fever and pain for the last two weeks, but his fever had finally broken two days ago, and while he’d been sleeping most of the day, Dean had been _sleeping_.

 

Castiel allowed the relief to wash over him once again, and then the silence hit him.

 

He could hear Dean breathing; he thought he could hear movement downstairs, probably from Ben or Bobby, but otherwise, there was only silence.

 

Dean stirred, and Cas moved to soothe him automatically. “Dean, it’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

 

“I need to use the john,” Dean whispered.

 

Castiel tried to keep his face blank of emotion as he helped Dean out of bed, assisted him to the bathroom, and then helped him back into bed again. “Sleep,” he urged, because Dean needed it, and because Castiel needed time to think.

 

He couldn’t hear his brothers or sisters. He couldn’t hear Dean’s thoughts, or those of Bobby or Ben downstairs.

 

Castiel had been completely cut off from the host now.

 

He fought to get his breathing and his heartbeat under control, but the walls seemed to close in on him. He needed space, and he needed time, and Castiel couldn’t get those things here.

 

Fighting for composure, Castiel gave Dean a long look and decided that Dean would be okay without him for a little while.

 

He managed to make it downstairs, and he stuck his head into the living room. Ben was going through a stack of DVDs while Bobby flipped through a book. “I’m going for a walk,” Castiel announced.

 

He’d learned over the last two weeks that he had to notify Ben and Bobby as to where he was going to be. Ten days ago, at the height of Dean’s fever, he’d sought revelation out in the salvage yard, and when he’d returned, Ben had refused to speak to him. Bobby had called him an idiot and told him to leave a note next time. Dean’s fever had broken while he was praying, so Castiel thought the price was worth paying.

 

But now, Castiel wasn’t seeking revelation for Dean, but for himself.

 

Now, Ben barely glanced up. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“Holler if you need something.” Bobby didn’t look up from his book.

 

Castiel walked out into the cool afternoon air. Even though it was late summer, the temperature felt more like fall, and Castiel paused to think of what that would mean for the winter.

 

He had to take care of Dean; he had to take care of Ben and Bobby because that was what Dean would want, but he no longer had the comforting background of the host’s voices from which to draw strength.

 

Away from the house, Castiel’s solitude became complete. He heard nothing but birdsong and the wind through the trees.

 

 _He heard nothing_.

 

Castiel leaned against an ancient oak tree and slid down the trunk, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his forehead against his knees.

 

He felt as though a hole had opened up inside of him; Castiel felt incomplete. For as long as he’d been in existence, he’d heard the voices of the host. He had never seen his father’s face, and he’d never heard his father’s voice—unless it had been through revelation—but Castiel had always had the constant murmur of his brothers and sisters.

 

And now they were gone; their voices had been silenced. Castiel hadn’t been able to fly since he’d transported Dean from the hospital, and he hadn’t been able to repair his clothing for weeks.

 

He was the next thing to human. As Dean might say, he was _fucking_ human.

 

Castiel screamed, letting out all the grief and anger and helplessness he’d felt in these last weeks. He’d nearly lost Dean, he’d lost _everything_ now.

 

How was he supposed to lose this? Castiel may have thrown his lot in with Dean, but he hadn’t expected to lose his connection with the host.

 

He wondered if this was what it felt like to lose a limb, and he suspected that this was similar sensation. He called to his father, but his father did not answer. All Castiel heard was the silence that even his own thoughts couldn’t fill.

 

Castiel had no idea how long he sat there, but it was long enough to grow chilled, long enough to miss the quiet movements of Ben and Bobby downstairs, and to wonder and worry about whether Dean was okay. Bobby couldn’t make it up the stairs, and Dean couldn’t make it down, and Ben wasn’t capable of doing much about that.

 

Castiel had been gone too long. He had responsibilities; he had _Dean_. That would have to be enough.

 

When he entered Bobby’s house again, Castiel felt as though days had gone by, rather than mere hours. Ben was nowhere to be seen, but Bobby was wheeling himself around the kitchen—making another pot of coffee, Castiel thought, and maybe getting things ready for dinner.

 

Bobby glanced over at Castiel as the floorboards squeaked under Castiel’s feet. “You were gone awhile.”

 

“I needed some space,” Castiel replied, hesitant to explain. He felt as though a hole had opened up inside him where the voices of his brethren had been, but there was no way to describe that to someone who wouldn’t—couldn’t—understand.

 

Bobby gave him a shrewd look. “You’re allowed. Ben’s upstairs with Dean.”

 

Castiel hesitated at the foot of the stairs, wondering if he could hope to hide his upset from Dean. Maybe a few days ago, when Dean had still feverish and on pain medications, but he’d made considerable improvements. Castiel suspected that Dean knew him well enough now to know that something was wrong.

 

As he approached the doorway, Castiel could hear Ben’s voice, animatedly describing something—likely a movie, Castiel thought, given the way Ben had been rifling through Bobby’s DVDs when he’d left.

 

He stopped just short of the doorway, and Castiel could see Ben perching on the edge of Dean’s bed, his hands moving as he excitedly outlined the story he told.

 

Castiel felt some of the tension leave him; seeing Ben and Dean together reminded him of why he’d made this decision in the first place. When he’d decided to stay with Dean full-time, Castiel had known he was risking his place in heaven. Castiel certainly couldn’t say that he’d expected anything else.

 

Listening to Ben’s voice, seeing the way his hands moved, the way he blossomed under Dean’s gaze, reminded Castiel that he’d chosen his path wisely. Perhaps Dean would have survived without him; perhaps he and Ben would have found one another, and Dean would have stopped Lucifer, and their lives would have been similar, but Castiel had to believe that Dean was better off with him there.

 

If he couldn’t believe that, then all of Castiel’s sacrifices would have been in vain.

 

Not wanting to interrupt the conversation, Castiel moved into the doorway, into Dean’s line of sight. Perhaps he was imagining it, but he thought Dean’s smile grew a little brighter when their eyes met.

 

Castiel thought it might be enough to make up for the solitude that plagued him now.

 

~~~~~

 

Dean woke slowly, his leg throbbing in time to the beating of his heart. He looked for Cas first thing, because Cas hadn’t been more than an arm’s length away since Dean had woken up in the hospital.

 

This time, Cas was nowhere to be seen.

 

Dean needed to use the bathroom, but getting there without help was going to be a problem. Steeling himself, Dean swung his legs off the bed, hissing at the chill in the air. Careful not to bump his bad leg, he put a hand on the wall and heaved himself up.

 

“Dad?” Ben poked his head in the room. “Are you okay?”

 

“I need to use the john,” Dean admitted.

 

Ben slid a thin arm around Dean’s waist, taking some of Dean’s weight. “Okay,” Ben said, his forehead furrowed in concentration. “I’ve got you.”

 

Dean smiled ruefully, wishing that his son didn’t have to see him like this, but Ben seemed to be taking his injury in stride. If seeing Dean injured this badly freaked Ben out at all, he hadn’t let on to Dean.

 

But then, Dean had been unconscious, delirious from fever, or high on pain meds for the last two weeks. Ben usually stopped in once a day to chat, but the visits had been short, and Dean had nothing but Cas’ assurances that Ben was fine, and they were all getting along.

 

Dean had just started feeling better the last couple of days, better enough to wonder how Ben was _really_ doing, and whether Cas and Bobby were getting along okay, and how Cas was holding up.

 

Cas had shouldered the lion’s share of the burden of looking after Dean, and Dean had some idea of just how bad it had been.

 

Dean waited until he was done in the bathroom and back in bed to ask, “Where’s Cas?”

 

Ben frowned, his eyes troubled. “I don’t know. He said he needed to take a walk. I didn’t think he was going to be gone this long.”

 

“How long?” Dean asked sharply.

 

“A couple of hours?” Ben hazarded. “I was watching a movie. I didn’t realize Cas hadn’t come back until Bobby told me he heard you.”

 

Dean heard the guilt in Ben’s voice, and he moved quickly to nip that in the bud. “Hey, Ben, that’s not your fault. I’m glad you got a chance to watch a movie. Which one?”

 

Ben launched in to a description of _Die Hard_ , and Dean didn’t have the heart to tell his son he’d seen it half a dozen times. Dean wondered briefly if Lisa would have allowed Ben to watch it, but he shoved that thought aside.

 

Ben had spent a day or two watching over his mother’s corpse; Dean figured his kid could handle a little fake violence.

 

While Ben talked, Dean kept an eye on the window and the rapidly dwindling light and tried not to let his worry show. He couldn’t go after Cas in his condition, and neither could Bobby. Dean certainly wasn’t going to send his son out after dark to look for Cas, no matter how safe the salvage yard happened to be.

 

It came to him then—again—how helpless he was. To a certain extent, Dean was at Cas’ mercy, and if Cas took off like Sam had taken off…

 

They would make it, Dean told himself. Whatever happened, they’d deal with it, but that didn’t stop the worry and the fear from gnawing at his gut now.

 

And that didn’t stop Dean from releasing the breath he’d been holding when Cas appeared in the doorway.

 

“Hey,” Dean said as soon as Ben paused to take a breath. “Did you have a good walk?”

 

Cas nodded, stepping into the room. “Bobby’s making dinner, Ben,” he said softly. “Would you mind helping him?”

 

Ben looked from Dean to Cas and back again, and then he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up.” Cas’ tone was strangely stiff and formal, and Dean couldn’t read his expression.

 

“Hey, it’s not a big deal,” he said. “Sometimes a guy just needs to go for a walk.”

 

A strange expression crossed Cas’ face, and he sat on the bed next to Dean, staring off into the distance. “A guy.”

 

“Or an angel,” Dean replied. “If you want to get technical.” Cas grimaced, and he looked so pained that Dean reached out to grab his arm. “Okay, what happened?”

 

“I’m not—I’m not an angel anymore,” Cas said quietly.

 

Dean blinked. “I know your battery’s a little low, but—”

 

“I could always hear the voices of my brothers and sisters,” Cas continued, cutting Dean off. “Even when my ‘battery’ was low. I can’t hear them.”

 

“Since when?”

 

“Since today. I woke up, and they were—gone.”

 

Cas sounded so bereft, his expression was so lost, that Dean had the sudden urge to pull Cas close and hold him tight, just as he might have done for Ben. Dean settled for squeezing Cas’ arm. “Cas—”

 

“I can’t _hear_ them, and it’s too quiet.”

 

Dean opened his mouth, intending to remind Cas that his brothers were a bunch of dicks, and it was no loss, but he stopped himself just in time. He figured it was a little like him and Sam—Dean might not always _like_ his brother, but he missed Sam, missed hearing him bitch and whine and nag. Maybe Cas felt the same way.

 

“Is there anything I can do?” Dean finally asked, knowing there probably wasn’t, but making the offer anyway.

 

Cas shook his head. “No.”

 

“Not that you don’t deserve some time off,” Dean said, “But where did you go?”

 

“I wanted to seek revelation,” Cas replied. “But I heard nothing.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said.

 

Cas shook his head. “Don’t be. Do you want to go downstairs for dinner? I think—I don’t want to be alone right now.”

 

“Maybe you should just move me down there permanently,” Dean suggested. “I’m feeling a lot better now.”

 

“Bobby and I were talking about closing up the second floor for winter. We aren’t sure whether we’ll have electricity all winter, and we may need to rely on the fireplace.”

 

“We’ll get it figured out,” Dean said, projecting confidence.

 

Cas nodded and began to rise, but Dean tugged on his arm. “Wait. Look, Cas—you’re not alone, you know?”

 

Although Dean could see the weariness and sorrow etched into Cas’ face, Cas’ smile was real and warm. “I know.”


End file.
